Those That Live By the Sword
by Isis1
Summary: . . . Die by the sword. Neither one of the boys expected to find their childhood friend - Marie, especially in South Boston. It was always predestined that there would be three Saints. And, Marie just happens to be their third . . .
1. Default Chapter

Bailey curled her fingers around the ebony beer, which was more than half-empty. The mug was cool - refreshing. She looked up toward her right, cautiously throwing a glance at the youthful, lithe man at the bar. She took into consideration that he was most definitely a few years older than her. That was frivolous at the moment; age meant nothing. What struck her most indefinitely was his hair. It was as black as a raven's back against an alabaster dove. It was only fitting, she voiced within herself, that his eyes burned a dark sapphire. Instantly, she referred to him, in her mind, as Adonis. 

She watched as he leaned over toward his brother. She come to this fact by eavesdropping. Adonis' brother's name was Connor. Adonis' brother was not quite the complete opposite of him - close enough, though. Whilst one possessed tresses of ebony, the other held short, unkempt locks of sun-kissed sienna; eyes of elder blue.

Lamenting, from gazing at the umpteenth beer that the brothers had finished, she looked down once more at hers. Bailey could easily remember the amount she had drank. In her hands was the ninth, but around the boys' fourteenth, she simply stopped counting.

Then, subsequently, Adonis turned around in his chair, lightly resting his elbows on the countre. Bailey had just lifted her head to sneak an adoring glance, as he made his movement. She could feel heat, pure warmth flood her pallid cheeks. She briefly thought that her embarrassment could have obliterated the sun. Swiftly in a careless motion, she averted her eyes. His dark orbs grew narrow with wonder - apprehension. But, soon, amusement played throughout his countenance.

Never before had Adonis set eyes upon this girl, and he had been going to this pub for some time. But for the past year, he had been - busy. There was a lot on his mind; this could be acknowledged from far away, and girl took notice of this. Standing beside his brother, Adonis would appear the care free one. Youth was etched firmly into his features.

Whenst Bailey first laid her sights onto him, she felt compelled to comfort him somehow - to console - to give her sympathy. It was funny, to Adonis, he felt as if he had seen her before. So, now on Saint Patrick's Day, he had decided to make a long expected appearance, along with his brother. And, with there Da - postponed, what else could they do? Become bladdered, was what. With a ponderous expression, Adonis turned back to the bartender.

"Doc, who's that girl over there?" he casually asked.

Without hesitation, or looking at Bailey, the Doc knew - knew exactly who Adonis was speaking of. He had watched Bailey since the first time she had came through the doors months ago. It was strange, he had deducted, that girl that looked no more than fifteen could possess the years she did. Doc had even carded her, refusing the first time to sell her anything. Then, with the most endearing of smiles, which reminded him of his eight year old granddaughter, she showed him her ID And, at this moment, when the Saint Patti's Day rush for liquour had passed, there were very few people left in his bar.

"I don't know - s-s - fuck - ass! Been comin' 'ere for months now. N-n-never says a word. Just points at what she wants to d-d-drink,"

Connor, without discreetness, turned to see what his brother's inquiry was about. First, he saw a young woman, with crimson upon her cheeks, which allowed a much needed smile: girls just did not blush anymore. Second, he took notice of the simplicity in her garb - next to his own, it was genuine. And, lastly, the mug of beer before her was almost gone. She probably, he thought, wanted another. He felt it was needed, that he ask his brother before hand.

"You gonna' go talk to her, Murph?"

"No," he threw a bewildered look at Connor, "do ya' think I should?"

Connor shrugged his shoulders, drank a long guzzle from his glass, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. His nonchalance was a total facade: he could swear that he had seen her before. They had not been out in so long, he figured that faces from long ago all appeared the same. He took the wonder in Murphy's voice to be doubt. He could always do that to his brother. With one question, or careless set of movements, he would cause Murphy to question himself. Though at most times, he never meant to, but then some times - it was just plain amusing.

Bailey, suddenly filled with boredom of beer, stood. Quite purely, she wanted something stronger - better. Tentatively, she walked toward the bar. As she looked around, she noticed that everyone else had departed; it was her, them, and the barman. A large space between the brothers called to her, so she fit herself snugly between them. It startled her that the fact that what she was about to ask for, would be the first word she spoke in this pub.

"Whiskey,"

Murphy almost instantly looked down upon her - literally, she barely came to his shoulder. Connor followed his brother, a new feeling for him, because it was usually the opposite: he gazed at the short woman. Both brothers, thought simultaneously, whiskey would go right through her small frame, intoxicating her quicker than a bum that had not had alcohol in two days. Doc nodded - brought up a glass from below the countre, and poured her a shot full. Swiftly devouring that portion, Bailey slammed the class down, sending an echo throughout the room. She wanted another. It was filled once more, and drained once more.

"Thirsty?" Murphy asked.

"A bit," she said, with a hiccup.

Bailey pointed at the shot glass, then there were two more rounds of whiskey, and then she was ready to go. In her world ready, was word that meant drunk. What else could she do, but go to her job, pay never ending bills, and then die. She had to have some sort of humour in her life, and why not drunken stupours? On cue, she stumbled, only bringing herself to balance by holding onto Murphy. He left his chair to insure her safety, allowing her to hold onto him as he latched onto her forearms.

"I t'ink you've had enough, darlin',"

Staring into Murphy's eyes, Bailey could not help but swoon even more. From the beautiful gifted man she had first taken notice of, he was transformed into a demented angel - beautiful still, but haunting. Even though her vision blurred ever so slightly, Bailey could define his eyes, and would there after always, as enchanting.

"Tell me you name is Adonis, with orbs as yours there can be no hell,"

Connor could not help himself, he had to laugh. Her accent, thick as it was, was slurred. Yet, they both heard her compliment, or in someway an insult to Connor: he was a bit jealous. Instead of complaining, he smiled and turned back to his beer. His brother, on the other hand, kept his full attention on the girl he held onto.

"M'lady," he scoffed, "I would tell you anything you could ever want to know, for now though - Murphy MacManus,"

Bailey did not have time to assess the meaning of the two strictly Irish origin of names together, she went limp. Her consciousness was fading rapidly. Connor stared at his brother, then at the girl, then shook his head disapprovingly. He could not believe that Murphy had just told her his name. The fact still astounded him that it was his own self that had come up with the idea to visit the "ole pub." It was just inviting trouble - welcoming conflict to rear its disgusting head and breed with malice. Connor rubbed his forehead, momentarily. He thought he must have been the most ignorant man to have been bourn.

"Murphy, is it then?" she cut through the infuriating silence.

"Aye, lass, 'tis,"

"Are ye sure it's not Adonis?"

"Aye," laughed Murphy, "I'm quite sure - quite."

"Well," another hiccup, followed by a giggle, "you're still a God."

Then, she passed out - completely unaware that by doing so, could have lead to an untimely demise. Luckily, "the Saints" possessed something more than the average man: chilvary. Murphy ascended his gaze from the limp girl in his arms, to his distressed brother. A shrugging of the shoulders, and Murphy had already decided. He lifted Bailey most easily over his shoulder, reminding him of incidents of the previous year. He walked in unhurried movements, and Connor, for the second time in his life - followed him. Connor decided, he would try not to make a habit of it.

The first sounds Marie Bailey heard, was the sound of flowing water hitting tile. The noise itself was soft, it echoed gently, giving her a comfort that unfamiliarness could never. A pounding in her skull also sent waves of uneasiness toward her. Suddenly, voices sprung into her senses - two - male - youthful, and of her own descent. At first, she could not hear cogitatable words - stillness reigned, but then as turning on a light switch - they existed.

"It reminds me of the old flat,"

"Aye, 'cept it hat more rats, Murph,"

Irish laughter rang true to Marie's ears. It was then that she forced her eyes open, and in truth it gave her a splitting headache a rest. What she beheld was not shocking, though she had seen worse - lived in worse. But, Marie had the knowing wisdom, that this was not forced onto whoever lived there - it was chosen. From where her sights rested, she beheld a mattress, which she lay on, and motion to her right. When she tore her gaze to the right, shock, indeed, would be the words that entered her mind.

Two, thin men showering - a virgin sight to her. She blushed. She could not bear to look away; she did not want to look away. Not only did body art draw her attention, but water - steam filled - fascinated her in way she knew not existed. This simple, yet captivating experience almost enlightened her: morals still did exist in a world that would almost be gladly built over you if you did not yield to its ways.

Simultaneously, Connor and Murphy turned off the water, sighing heavily. Without a moments hesitation, Marie snapped her head back, closing her eyes. Footsteps lingered - and then they abruptly ceased. Someone sat down near her feet, damp warmth stung her legs. A sudden chill was made known to her body. A creeping sense of apprehension crept up her body, then back down again. Then, Connor's voice broke through the frigidness.

"You shouldn't have brought her here,"

"Don't start that again," groaned Murphy,

"But, what the fuckin' hell were you thinkin'?"

"Oh, well fickle me, I was thinkin' she could be the third, until we get Da back. Come on, Connor," he was peeved no, "what the fuck do you think I was thinking?"

"Well, gee, Murphy" Murphy had irked him, "I don't know. Why don't you just give me another stupid fuckin' excuse?"

"Fine!" concluded the angry Murphy, "Next time I'll just leave an innocent girl passed out on the floor."

"That's not what I . . ."

Connor never got the chance to finish the line of thoughts, Marie decided to make her consciousness known, and her presence gone. She could not quite understand what "third meant, and quite frankly, she did not want to find out. Carefully, she chose the words, and tone, as to not startle the two men.

"I'm awake,"

Marie sat up, pulling with all of her strength. Much of it was depleted, the hangover was a disease - a forced virus that was working its way through her blood stream. The first vision of her rising was Murphy MacManus. She searched her memory journals. The dark haired man looked familiar, there was some place she had seen him before. If only she could detect it . . .

"Adonis?" she asked.

"Not quite," Connor scoffed.

"Oh. M-Murphy?"

"Indeed," Murphy answered.

Marie turned her head to peer at the other man, she instantly contrasted the two. It then chose to dawn on her - they were brothers, she recalled - Murphy and Connor. They held the same build essentially, but different hair and eye colour, and there was something about their nature in general that gave her a comforting cogitation. Connor watched the girl's orbs intently. They traced his body, then the area which he sat on. Her gaze lingered momentarily, on the dingy mattress.

"And, you're Connor, right?"

She took his silence as a recognition of the fact that she had got his name right. And, he seemed bit miffed - suspicious of her. So, she thought it would be a good time to clear herself in his eyes. It was clear that he was the one that made the final decisions, in anything and everything. Marie knew that if she was to give an explanation, one was expected, not for Murphy, but for Connor. Those names; she rolled them around in her head - she vaguely thought she had known a Murphy and Connor long ago . . .

"Don't get jumpy. I over heard your name in the pub last night. You seem a little paranoid, but you're the one who brought a mere stranger into your home,"

"She's got a point, Con," Murphy agreed, nodding his head.

"Of course she does," said Connor, narrowing his eyes at his brother.

Connor glared at his brother, there was something not quite right about the girl before him. He blatantly admitted that he was the one that allowed his brother to take charge; he now regretted it. A concerned expression played simply upon his face, he had to discern what to do. Murphy smirked knowingly.

"Shut it! You're the one who brought her here in the first place,"

In response Murphy rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. Connor just did not know when to leave well enough alone. He, from that day on would bring this up and throw it in his face. He did not think he did anything wrong. In fact he figured he had done what any gentleman would do.

"What's your name?" asked Connor, abruptly slicing the conversation.

"Bailey," Marie felt she did not need to give them her first name.

"What were you doin' at McGinty's last night?"

Marie blinked; she was astounded that he would ask such a thing. Either, she grinned inwardly, he was that naive, or just really stupid. She thought, at least to the average Irishman, that the fact of just why she was there, was obvious. From her gaze at the blonde-haired man, she turned back to Murphy. It was evident that he was amused, deeply in fact.

"It was Saint Patti's Day," she answered, "every Irishman was at a pub last night."

In an uneasy silence, that craved a burning in the River of Styx, they sat - staring - still. There was something that needed to be said - done, but none of the three stubborn young people wished to speak up first. Finally, Marie with her impatience beckoning her soul - her mind, she decided that it would be her to do so. She could already surmise that the brothers were certainly not about to. So, she stood on two wonky-feeling legs, hoping against all that preserved her, that she possessed the strength - the will, to walk out of the dank room.

"Well, I guess - thanks,"

Rising, as well on timid stepping, Murphy stood, lightly grabbing onto her elbow to show her out. Even though the steps actually to the door could not amount to many, it was the gesture, in his mind, that counted. Marie took in account the door, making absolutely sure that she memorized all of its features; simply she did not want to loose contact with either of them. As Murphy opened the door, she caught sight of crosses, Celtic in appearance, strictly Catholic. Instantaneously, she stuck out her hand and grabbed the longest one. It was enchanting, simply mind-grabbing.

"Where did ye get these?"

Murphy removed the cross from the hook and allowed her to caress it. A childlike smile, filled with pride, and tainted with sin, grew upon his haunting countenance. The object was so familiar to him, that when he did not wear it, he continued to feel it dangling beneath his shirt. And, when he looked down, to find it not there - a tremour of terror would run through his body, eradicating his flesh.

"They were a confirmation gift - from our Father,"

A sharp intake of breath came from Marie, her lungs were over flowing with dampened air. Connor, stood, almost shocked that such a shred of knowledge would have made such a reaction. He could see his brother, clearly - his face, while he could see only her back. But, he could make out swift, sure movements: Marie reached beneath her shirt and pulled out her own cross. Similar would never be able to describe the three pieces of faith; they were exact, save for Murphy's being the slightly longer of the three.

"I got mine for my confirmation, back in . . ."

"Ireland," Murphy broke in.

"My Father had it . . ." she was interrupted.

"Specially made," they said.

Marie frowned as she handed Murphy's back to him;  
she thought her Father might have lied to her. She specifically remembred him telling her there would be no other like it. It was like finding out that a parent is not all powerful and perfect as once thought. No, she decided, her Father would never had lied to her intentionally; so the feeling that she had met these two boys - known them from before . . .

"What did ye say your surname was?"

"MacManus . . ." drawled Murphy, slowly.

It came to her fiercely: she knew these men - she had known them at least in her childhood. Leaning against the wall, Marie closed her eyes. Quite frankly, she thought she was going to be ill, or pass out. Forcing herself to regain her composure,  
she opened her dark green orbs. Murphy and Connor were standing directly in front of her, peering at her with much curiosity. They were concerned, to say the least. With a great tremour washing over her body, Marie remebered . . .


	2. Chapter II

"Connor!" a woman's voice called, angrily, "Murphy! Marie! You've been out 'dere all damn day, come back inside, supper's ready!" 

The trio of youths paid her no mind. The playground was their solace, and luckily for them it was just across the street from their apartments. A short, pudgy girl, with straight red hair was being pushed by two boys elder than her. They took turns at telling jokes and antidotes to get her to giggle. It was all they could do for the girl they knew, whose Father was leaving very soon. 

As Murphy took his turn pushing her, and elder man made his way across the playground. Both boys stood still - silent. It was Marie's Father. She noticed him seconds after the boys had. As the man neared Marie, he knelt down and hugged her. The youthful girl embraced her Father, as he peered up at the boys before him. 

"Lass . . ." the man started, but his voice failed him. 

"Da? What is it? Murphy and Connor were pushing me on the swing, and being funny. I'm sorry I didn't listen to their Ma, I'll be good, Da - I promise," 

It was no use. He looked upon his only daughter with lamentful eyes: he loathed himself for having to leave. Suddenly, a tearful grin came to his face as he thought of her innocence. She thought he was mad at her for staying out with Connor and Murphy. He laid one hand on her shoulder, whilst the other dug into his coat pocket for something. Within seconds he pulled out a Celtic Cross Rosary. Marie reached for it tentatively; it was just like Connor's and Murphy's - she grinned wildly at that thought. 

"Marie - boys, your Da and me had these made specifically for your confirmation. You'll never find any others like it anywhere else. So, wear it, lass, and think of me when I'm gone," 

"Da, where are you going?" she asked, growing sad. 

"Far away, my dearest daughter," he hugged her once more, "far away." 

The man stood on shaky legs, and walked away. He dared not turn back, he would not let his daughter, or the boys whom he deemed as sons see the tears streaming down his sunken face. Connor and Murphy turned to each other, and then rested a hand on each of her shoulders. They had never heard her cry, even when she was baby, she was the quietest little thing; even when she hurt herself - she never cried. 

"He's going where your Da went, isn't he?" her voice was softer than it usually was. 

"Yes, . . ." Connor stated, sorrowfully.

"He is," Murphy finished. 

Murphy began to push Marie on the swing again, and again the brothers alternated. But, there were no jokes this time. Only dull silence. The grey sky opened forth and began to rain gently. They continued to push her. Marie hung her head down, and realized that they were all she had left. 

Eight Years Later . . .

Marie punched Murphy in the face with her right hand. He stumbled backward a bit, then quickly regained his balance. She turned to Connor - he knew he was next. She hit Connor in turn with her left; he mirrored his brother. They held their heads down and gazed at her scuffed boots. They were almost astounded that she used what they had taught her. 

"You're leaving me - just like everyone else!" she screamed, with enraged fervour. "Just like Da - just like Ma!" 

Murphy winced at the memory of Mrs. Bailey's death three years ago. Grimacing, Connor reached for Marie. She slapped his hand away, causing her to loose her footing; she sank to her knees. This was the first time they had ever heard her weep openly. The tear drops that fell freely from her dark green orbs sounded like as loud as the hammering of nails to her. But, she knew that they could not hear them. 

"You're going to live with your Aunt, she'll look after ye," Murphy offered. 

He hoped in vain that this would give her some comfort. He was sorely disappointed when she scoffed and let out a sorrowful sob. They loathed doing this to her, but they were eighteen years old, and they heard the sea calling to them. 

"I hate you both," 

Connor kneeled down on his knees in front of her. He embraced her in his arms, and he half expected her to pull away and give him another good left hook. To his surprised she burrowed further into his chest, feeling frigid tears drench his shirt. Murphy followed his brother, like he always did, and embraced her as well. Marie clutched both of their shirts, in attempt to hold onto them as long as possible. As long as she could touch them, they could not leave her. 

"You'll never come back," she sniffled. 

"Yes, . . ." Murphy began.  
"We will," Connor concluded. 

Marie shook her head violently. The brothers held on tighter so she would not run away. Murphy began to caress her now darkened red hair. He smiled to remember that when she younger, it had been a bright, blinding red. Now her hair was long, and had never beheld the image of scissors. He found himself arguing with his conscience not to leave. 

They had always been friends. From the first time that her parents had brought her home from the hospital, Murphy and Connor had been drawn to the sleeping babe. They lived next door to one another, and found themselves over at the Bailey's a lot: having dinner and what not. They vaguely remembered when their Father's would smoke cigars and watch sports on t.v., while their Mother's conversed over beer about when they were young girls. 

When Mrs. Bailey had let each of the boys hold the baby redheaded girl, they knew that they would be together always. But, always is not forever, and Connor and Murphy hated this fact. Connor smiled to recall when they were eight years old, and Marie two; she had all ready said her first words, Da. But, her next word was Con. He always took pride in knowing that he was her second word. In short, he adored the little, chubby girl with eyes as green as the seas during a storm. 

The twelve year old girl pushed the boys away and peered into each of their countenances. She read all that she needed to. She realized that she was being extremely selfish: they did not wish to go - they did not wish to hurt her. But, they were, and had succeded in doing both. 

Marie blindly stood up and peered down at Connor and Murphy. She gave a half-grin and winked at them. Tilting her chin upward, to show defiance, and strength - she walked toward the swings. She calmly sat down, holding tightly to the chains that held her. She did not move - she was battling with sorrow. Murphy and Connor followed her, with their own silent, lamentful remorse. They began to push her, this time together . . . 


	3. Chapter III

"Marie," she explained, softly. 

Then, it hit both of the MacManus brothers. Instantaneously, they turned to one another: they both knew. Connor was first to go forward and embrace her, Murphy followed within seconds. Murphy did not hear himself when he started mumbling about her hair. He was caressing it: it still held the same darkness as it ever had. Then,  
Marie pulled back, pushing them roughly off of her. They stumbled, with surprise. They should have known - should have. 

Marie punched Connor with her left fist, and swiftly added a good hit to Murphy with her right. Both men fell back, sitting stunned - blinking strangely. In all her glory, Marie stood glowering down at them, both hands clenched at her sides. Murphy touched the now tender skin around his left eye, while Connor fingered his right eye. 

"That's for never coming back, you twits," she stated calmly, as if saying it was a sunny day outside. 

Scoffing, Connor stood up, then helped Murphy off the floor. It seemed that Murphy was still quite in shock, either over seeing Marie, or having Marie hit him. She smirked at the two boys. They had taught her well, maybe a little too well. She flung herself at them, and they thought she was going to pummel then again. She covered them with her short body, with friendly embraces, and docile kisses. 

Murphy and Connor sat in separate chairs across a table from one another. Connor held an ice bag over his sore eye. Already was a bruise beginning to form around his right eye, but he was contented none-the-less. Marie was gently hovering over Murphy, much to his brother's dismay, holding a bag of ice over his left eye. Her hand rested on top of his head, idly playing with his ebony hair. Connor shifted his bag of ice, grumbling. 

"How come I'm always the one left to hold my own ice?" 

Marie left Murphy's side, he took hold of the ice and finished where Marie left off. She came toward Connor, and took his ice away from him. Peering close at his face, he suddenly became uncomfortable. Marie poked at the red circle forming around his eyes. He winced, considerably, and when he opened his eyes, she held out his ice for him. 

"Are ye bleeding?" 

"Well, no, but . . ." 

"Then you're fine," she cut him off, walking back to Murphy. 

"He's not bleeding, either," Connor interjected, as Marie held Murphy's ice bag for him once more. 

"No, but he's the baby - he needs more attention," stated Marie, apathetically. 

"What?" they both asked, confusedly. 

Her hand clamped over her mouth as she heard their question. She closed both her eyes, and sighed. Marie could not believe that she had just let that out. Ma would be so mad at her. She could hear Mrs. MacManus' voice now, "You fucking did what? You little sodding bastard!" Marie chuckled audibly, then glanced at both of the brothers. 

"Well?" they inquired, anxiously. 

"I mean," she looked down at Murphy's face, peering up at her, "Murph, you always act like such a baby." 

"Bull . . ." this came from Connor, scoffing loudly. 

"Shit," Murphy did the same. 

Marie threw her hands up in the air and let out cry of annoyance. She sat in one of the chairs beside Murphy. Attempting to ignore that Murphy, and Connor held a heated gaze on her, she twiddled her thumbs. Marie never was any good at fibbing. Humming "Oh, Danny Boy,"she tried to change the subject. 

"So," she drawled, casually, "what 'ave ye been up to the last nine years?" 

"No," Connor stated, slamming his hand down on the table. 

Murphy merely smirked and lit a cigarette. He gave it to Marie, who gladly excepted it, then he lit one for himself. Connor impatiently lit his own, then began to drum his fingers on the table. Marie nonchalantly smoked her cigarette, staring at Murphy, whose was grinning ear-to-ear. Yes, she surmised, he definitely is the baby.

"Nice place," she tried again, "so moderate, yet cozy." 

Connor slowly placed both his arms on the table and glared at Marie. Finally, she was forced to return his blatant stare. She smiled ever so innocently, and he was taken aback. He hated that look. That was how she had gotten away with everything. He recalled that she had played many a joke on both of their parents, and blamed it on them. Somehow, Connor always got the blunt of the lectures, as well as the punishments. He after all, was the one to initiate their stunts. On the contrary, he thought, she's the baby. 

"Spill, or we'll tickle," he challenged. 

Her face dropped, and she whipped her head around to look at Murphy. He was most certainly not any help. He cracked his knuckles, and awaited his brother's signal. No, she thought, they wouldn't dare. She turned to Connor once more - yes, she knew, they would dare. That was how it always was before. To get her to tell secrets, they would tickle her mercilessly, until she cried and could not breathe. 

Marie gulped, a little to loudly for her liking. Maybe they didn't hear that? Studying both of them - yes, they heard it, and it was written all over their features. She laughed, forcefully, and apprehensively ran a finger through her hair. Trying to compose her face, she straightened her posture. 

"Boys," she struggled, "I don't think . . . "

She never got to finish, because she made a mad dash for the other side of the room. In mid-sentence, Connor had jumped up to fulfill his promise of torture. They had a beaten down couch, which Marie hastily jumped onto. She stood on one side, the brothers on the other. She shifted her weight from leg to leg, trying to read their bodies. They were practically still, and oh, so menacing looking. Marie shook her head, hopelessly, then ran to the right. 

Murphy intercepted her from that way, while Connor opted for the opposite. She turned from Murphy, only to ram into Connor's hard chest. She stumbled into Murphy's arms, and it began. It was a known fact between the three, that she was abnormally ticklish everywhere, even her palms were sensitive. At Murphy merely grabbing her shoulders, she shrieked. Her legs fell out from under her, but thankfully Connor caught her half-way, so she did not fall horribly. He descended on her knees. 

"No - no - no - please - Con - don't! Murph - help - no - dying! Stop - please - oh - god - can't - breathe! Fuck - fuck - fuck - ass - fuck - fuck - fucking - shit - damn - damnable - assholes - bastards - sons of bitches - mother fucking, Connor, Murphy - no!" 

This continued for many minutes, Connor and Murphy thoroughly enjoying themselves at hearing random obscenities thrown at them. The only other woman they knew who could use the word fuck so many times in one sentence, was their Ma. They grinned, and laughed, which sounded so evil to Marie. 

Abruptly - they both ceased succinctly. But, Marie could steal feel the tickling sensation and her laughter was mixed with a bit of squeaking; it subsided, eventually. Slowly, with a ragged breath, and unsteady bearings, she sat up. Connor was on her right, looking very satisfied, whilst Murphy appeared devilishly smug; in short, they were both proud of themselves. 

She caught her breath quickly, alternating her glarings between the two. She finally sighed, with a comfortable smile on her countenance. Marie hung her head down - she had been beaten by the best, she conceded. 

"Now, about being the baby?" Murphy inquired, raising an eyebrow. 

"You know," she looked up, sounding exasperated, "you would think after so many years it wouldn't matter." 

"But . . ."

"It does," interjected Connor. 

She shook her head, without much force, and threw her hands up in the air. Rolling her eyes at both of them in turn, Marie pulled herself up onto the couch. Murphy and Connor squeezed in terribly close beside her. Instinctively, her head found Connor's shoulder, and she propped her legs up on Murphy. She deeply breathed in the fresh scent of Irish Spring, it comforted her to know that they were once again together. 

Murphy and Connor stared at one another. Each of them were somehow drawn to her: it was not her appearance, because they had seen more beautiful women in their days. But, it was the mere fact that the girl could talk - speak about almost anything and everything, her knowledge consisted of many, many various subjects. 

And, even though she was six years the younger, it was she who they consulted all those years ago when doing homework. It was her Mother who was so worldly who knew many different languages, and she was the one who taught them all. Of course they found it dreadfully boring and tedious, but they picked up foreign languages easily. But, it was Marie who took it one step forward with learning how to write in all of those languages; they never took the time. 

Then again, Murphy found himself always wanting to bury his head in her damnable ruby red hair. Whilst, Connor opted for her shadowed green eyes. So, Murphy allowed himself while she had her eyes so peacefully closed, to softly stroke her unkempt locks. 

"Eight and a half minutes," she mumbled, sleepily. 

Her breath slowed, and what she was saying did not register in their minds. They were as it always was before - together - a family. Both brothers made themselves comfortable, that is as comfortable as they could with a girl laid atop them. Hearing her breath become shallow, and steady, they knew that slumber was creeping over her, as well as themselves. 

So, they warmed one another, with their bodies intensely pressed close to one another. And, they also warmed each other with one another's presence. Nine years was a long time to be away from a dear one. For once since their 'Saintly' work, their minds were quieted. 

"Con?" her voice quickly fading into the shadows. 

"Hmm?" 

"You," she stated, "by eight and a half minutes." 

Murphy knew it, he knew all along. He was the one that followed Connor, even blindly sometimes. But, would follow him to the River of Styx blindly, if necessary. That one argument was put to rest, whilst others would probably never be. Connor, grinned voluntarily - he knew it - knew it all along. He was the one who was always protective of Murphy, even to the extent where it would miff his brother. But, they always stayed together, and there was no need for apologies. They simply knew. 


	4. Chapter IV

Marie was dreaming; she knew she was dreaming. But, it was so entirely odd that she could behold nothing. It was as black as when one closed their eyes to sleep, but she could hear - sense. A voice - a man's voice. It took her many moments to decipher who just exactly it was. Then, as Marie desperately searched her memory journals - it broke upon her: her Father. 

"Da," she cried out, helplessly, "Da!" 

He was speaking in Gaelic at first, and she could not make out the words. Marie slapped herself to get her mind to focus on the actual syllables. Now, her Da had reverted back to English. 

"Da, I canna' understand ye - speak clearly, damn ye!" 

Silence - abrupt silenced that smothered her soul. Marie was, blatantly, frightened. She reached for anything - anyone who could aide her. It was of no use though, there was nothing there but the dark, the dark, and the silence. So, she waited. Marie waited for her Da to start speaking again. And, as soon as she let patience become her - it came . . .

"If one harms another today, then ye shall harm him five full on the 'morrow, and if a wrong is committed, it is their God-give right to execute judgment. The three shall spread their blackened wings, and be the vengeful striking hammer of God . . . "

With the last wisdom-filled words echoing in her mind, she awoke with a jump. Marie felt as if she had been falling. Within moments she realized that she had found Connor and Murphy, and they were awake, as well. She could not remember the last time she had slept so heavy, but then, she could neither recall having such a dream. 

Circumspectly, Marie crawled onto the floor, swiftly turning to stare at the brothers. Their expressions were almost mirror images with one another. She had her left eyebrow raised in contemplation. As surely as the there is no reason why the eye of the heavens rises each morne, she could not reason why they had dreamt the same exact thing. 


	5. Ch V

"No," she said, blandly, "I refuse to believe - such - such . . . "

"Truth?" Connor asked, suggestively. 

"What was pre-ordained?" Murphy had to add his two-cents. 

"No, no, and no again. Ye couldn't have, could ye?" 

"We did, and will again," they succinctly, confirmed.

Marie had gone through one pack of cigarettes, chain-smoking as she never had before. But, even the nicotine could not quell her incessant cogitations. She was working on her second pack. Marie sighed, then drank some of her beer. It tasted bitter in her mouth, yet she savoured the bitterness. She almost felt betrayed - almost. 

"But, Da," she referred to their Father, "where is he?" 

"He's been taken, Marie. And, we need your help," Murphy begged with his sapphire orbs. 

"I can't believe I've read about ye in the papers, and never knew it was you two. I forever agreed with what what ye were doin' - forever," 

They nodded. Both never expected her to argue with them, not over something so important. The brothers did not need to hear her words of actually agreeing, she was too proud to for that. Long ago, they noticed, she must have replaced the word always with forever, because after all, always was not forever; forever was for eternity. And, they knew she would forever stand by their sides, even if she had to ride all the way to Hades to get there. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter is short, because the next chapter is a bit dramatic and enlightening. I would like to know what YOU the REAdERS think that Marie should end up with: Murphy or Connor.  
Cheers! 


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